An Alphabet of Letters
by An Artists Account
Summary: Everyone has a story, whether it is told or not. Here are these stories, told through letters, never sent, all destroyed. A fragment of a life we all barely know. A Letter (a life) for every letter of the alphabet
1. Aberforth Dumbledore

_Chapter one_

_Dear A_

_Dear A_  
I hoped one day  
To find out the answer  
To the question  
I've been scared to ask

_But Dear A_  
I was too scared  
Too afraid  
Too weak  
To ask  
Because what if it was me?  
What if it was me?  
(I couldn't live with myself)

_Dear A_  
All those nights  
Sat in silence  
In the corner of your bar  
My shame hidden by my hood  
You never meet my eyes  
Not even once

_Dear A_  
Loss is a powerful tool  
But guilt is stronger  
My guilt  
It's eating me alive  
It makes me fight harder  
Makes me love more  
And even though  
I know I am going to die  
I don't believe  
That even death  
Could soften the weight  
I carry inside

_Dear A_  
I know you hate me  
Even after all these years  
It doesn't matter  
I hate myself more  
But I wish  
Deep, deep down  
That I could have been more like you  
Little Brother  
And less like me  
(so power hungry)

_Dear A_  
If I'd known what the potion would make me see  
I wouldn't have had the strength to drink it  
And Harry would have been lost  
(and all hope with him)  
And, oh, such terrible things  
But the scariest thing  
Was that they were all true

_Dear A_  
I am about to die  
I can feel death coming for me  
As surely as the Chudley Cannons  
Will finish bottom of the league  
Again  
But the plan I have set in motion  
The wheels that have begun to spin  
Cannot be stopped.

_Dear A_  
One last favour,  
please,  
I know I shouldn't ask it of you  
Not after I murdered our sister  
But Harry needs help  
He's a better man that I  
But he can't do this alone  
So when he comes to you  
When it is about to end  
Please don't turn him away  
Give him a choice  
The choice Arianna never had  
To fight or flee  
But let him fight  
Because that is what he will choose

_Dear A_  
I'm sorry  
Oh my brother  
You can never understand  
how sorry I am

Yours, always,  
The lesser brother


	2. Blaise Zabini

_Chapter two_

_Dear B_

_Dear B_  
I plan to write seven of these segments  
One for each husband  
One for each chapter in my life  
One for each part of my heart  
That was torn away.

.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
there was a fairytale princess,  
with hair like the raven's wing  
and eyes like shards of ice.  
And when she was but sixteen  
her father sold her  
to a man that did not want her  
but desired her gold.  
For seven years she wed him,  
slave to his every command  
and while he enjoyed his young wife's nubile charms  
his lust for a child  
(as young as his own daughter)  
was outweighed by his greed  
for more  
and more gold.

_Dear B_  
I did not suffer, perhaps,  
as one might think.  
He took my innocence  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
Natural Causes, the report said.  
Perhaps helped along by a little magic  
Perhaps not.  
I did not care about him.  
Only the gold,  
the mountain of gold I had taken from him.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
there was a woman,  
made stronger through cynicism.  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_  
My next husband was proud, and not old.  
Father sold me again,  
for twenty-three was still young enough  
for me to fear his wrath.  
He was young, and spoke languages  
like God had given him  
a silver tongue.  
I bore him a son.  
Just one.  
And he was beautiful.  
I did not think I knew love before that moment.  
I named him Blaise  
And he took his father's name,  
For he was kind to me...  
At least at first.

_Dear B_  
Your father was a good man  
I believe it,  
somewhere deep down  
there beat a heart that might have loved you.  
But he loved drink more  
and one day, he took you away from me  
(my beautiful, beautiful son)  
and in a rage he beat me  
With fists and words.  
He said I would never see you again.

_Dear B_  
I did not suffer, perhaps,  
as one might think  
He took my dignity  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
A Fire, the report said.  
Perhaps helped along by a little magic  
Perhaps not.  
"How fortunate," The lawyer said,  
with a conspiratory wink,  
"That your gold did not reside in the mansion."

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
there was a woman,  
made stronger through pain.  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_  
I married the Lawyer next  
because he was shrewd  
and guessed entirely too much.  
His calculating eyes followed me around his home.  
Every movement he made was expressionless  
and cold.  
He married me for my money  
He married me for my life  
He did not marry me for me.  
And in his house,  
so full of high ceilings and stone floors,  
you learnt to walk and talk  
my beautiful, beautiful son.  
And I learnt how to be silent,  
fearful of the long silences that he drew  
like a knife  
across my throat.  
And when he finally told me  
that I was not deserving of you,  
my beautiful, beautiful son,  
because I was nothing:  
Something to be bought  
And sold  
for a handful of diamonds  
I knew it was the end.

_Dear B_  
I did not suffer, perhaps,  
as one might think.  
He took my courage  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
An Accident, the report said.  
Perhaps helped along by a little magic  
Perhaps not.  
And another pile of gold  
to add to my hoard.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
There was a woman,  
made stronger through fear  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_

By this point I'm wondering

are there any good people left?

My father is dead now,

and I sit

on the front row of chairs,

while his coffin is lowered

into a deep,

dark,_  
_hole in front of me.

I pretend to grieve.

I even pretend to care.

But I am simply an actor

The black veil, simply a part

of the costume I surround myself with.

My mother sits beside me,

posture ram-rod straight,

and not a single tear,

glistens in her eye.

She hated him in the end,

just as I did,

in that moment when I stopped being his daughter,

and became something he owned.

My father's friend

offers his condolences.

(Lies, I see them in his eyes.)

_Dear B_

I marry him, because he is rich

and I have become accustomed to a certain

way of life

and because by now,

my hands are weighed down,

by the weight of the blood on them.

He is my punishment

and he lies to me

(about everything.)

About the women.

And the strange blue smoke

that sometimes seeps under his door.

And the way,

after he twists my wrists behind me,

and kisses my shoulders,

he said he never meant to hurt me.

I let him.

He is my punishment.

And then I see him

raise his hand to you,

my beautiful, beautiful son.

I slit his throat.

It splatters my fine dress

and the taste of rust

fills my mouth.

_Dear B_  
I suffered then,

as a mother should.  
He took my joy  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
Murder, the report said.  
So I donned my widows weaves

and squeezed a tear from ice-like eyes,

and the whole world

sees only what they want,

a young girl,

missing her master.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
There was a woman,  
made stronger through loss.  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_

Husband number five

spoke almost no English

but was young

and seemed fascinated by me.

I let him adore me

let him whisper dirty words to me

in his foreign tongue

when we were in bed.

I was too busy

telling you stories,

about dragons and giants and faeries,

and memorizing every feature

of your face.

But the dirty words

soon become harsh and biting

and soon we are screaming at each other.

And all of a sudden

it hits me

that I have become what I swore I would not.

My mother and father's pawn,

and so clearly I can see

again

what I saw as a child,

hidden behind a door.

The screams of my parents

and the sharp crack as my father hits her.

The way blood runs from her nose

as she tries to claw out his eyes

and the way she screams

that she hates him

hates him,

wishes he were dead.

_Dear B_  
I'm sorry he had to die,

I know you liked him.  
He took my dreams  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
Natural Causes, the report said. Again.  
Perhaps helped along by a little magic  
Perhaps not.  
But this time there is a twinge of guilt,

when I look in your eyes.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
There was a woman,  
made stronger through silence  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_

Number six throws himself at my feet

And says my beauty outweighs the stars.

It's a lie.

My eyes reflect the ice my heart has turned to,

chapter by chapter,

freezing,

dying.

I marry him

because he seems to truly love me

and I wish for a moment

that it might be true.

We make it last,

far longer than I would have thought

But after a while

I realise

that he expects me to be content

with his comparisons of my beauty

to the many wonders of our world

and not to question

a single thing.

He did not want a wife,

he wanted a rose

in full bloom,

something to lie on a silken cushion

content to be marvelled.

I have always branded my beauty like a whip

My last line of defence.

He takes it from me.

I let him, because he seems to love me

and because,

despite my protestations,

I desperately need someone to love me

because my heart is freezing.

Because I am dying.

And then I see him,

for what he is.

And all my ideals are blown away

when the blindfold is lifted.

He only had eyes for me,

and hate for

my beautiful, beautiful son.

_Dear B_  
I do not suffer,

My heart only has a sliver of life left.

It is not enough to care.  
He took my beauty  
But a heart has more than one part  
and lived to beat again.

_Dear B_  
Cardiac Arrest, the report said.  
Perhaps helped along by a little magic  
Perhaps not.  
I wear his blood like gloves,

staining my soul.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
There was a woman,  
made stronger through hate.  
The cost?  
One fragment of heart.

.

_Dear B_

I married seven

because he was old and tired

and I was old and tired.

You are eleven years old now

my beautiful, beautiful son.

You are kind,

and good,

and noble.

And I pray you will remain that way,

no matter what.

My husband rarely sees me,

and I prefer it that way.

It means I can stay with you,

and tell you stories.

But one day, he sweeps in out of nowhere,

and steals you away.

He pulls you from my fingertips

and sends you to boarding school,

and tells me I can never see you again.

He tells me I am sick.

But I know the truth,

I am cold,

so cold.

And when he returns

my rage explodes

and he lies dead at my feet.

_Dear B_  
I cannot stand it,

the grief that cripples me,

bends me double with its astonishing weight.  
He took my hope

And without hope,

how can a heart hope to beat again?

_Dear B_  
Dark Magic, the report said.  
And I know I am suspected,

the aurors putting the numbers together

as only they can.

_Dear B_  
Once upon a time  
There was a woman,  
made weaker through living  
The cost?  
The last fragment of heart...


	3. Colin Creevey

Chapter three

Dear A

Dear C

You dear, sweet, wonderful boy!

You light up my world,

you and your brother,

and it was you,

my wonderful, wonderful sons

that saved me

when I lost my wife.

Dear C

I know money's always been

A bit on the tight side

(Being a milkman doesn't

Pay so well)

But I promise you

I'll always give

Everything you need.

Dear C

How incredible!

Fantastic!

Wonderful!

Magical!

And a million other

Indescribable words

A wizard?

My, I always knew

You were special.

Dear C

Moving photographs?

Though that Lockhart looks

like a bit of a poser,

(and I can't see The Harry Potter at all

I'm afraid.)

And all these stories you tell me in these

Lovely, long letters.

Dennis misses his big brother,

and he's got all his fingers crossed

that he'll get his letter

when he turns eleven

(I tell him I'll love him

just the same if he doesn't.)

Dear C

That young Harry Potter

Seems like quite the hero doesn't he?

I'm so glad you've got a boy like that

looking out for you.

Dear C

I owe Harry Potter so much

Because he returned my boy

My precious boy

to me.

Thank him,

from me

Because he saved my son.

Dear C

Who's this girl, Ginny Weasley,

You keep mentioning?

The one you described as

'The most earth shattering girl

You could ever meet.'

You've grown up so fast my son,

And you're not a Gryffindor for nothing!

Tell her how you feel.

Dear C

I know you said to be careful

What I write in letters

But I wanted to let you know

that I commend every effort

To join all the extra-curricula's you can

Even the one I probably should approve of.

(Wink Wink.)

Dear C

Don't worry about Ginny,

There's plenty of other

Fish in the Sea

And it's nice you're staying friends.

My grownup fifth year!

I've got an ominous feeling though,

That danger's looming

And I'm scared for my sons.

Dear C

I-

I can barely write

I can barely breathe

I can only ask,

again

and again

Why?

Why couldn't you live?

Oh my darling boy,

my brave

brave boy...


End file.
